in coming home, with your foolish jealousies. Clover, I trust to you to take these young mutineers in hand and make them listen to reason.”
Thus appealed to, Clover rallied her powers, and while laboring to bring Elsie and John to a proper frame of mind, schooled herself as well, so as to be able to treat Mrs. Ashe amiably when they met. Dear, unconscious Polly meanwhile was devising all sorts of pleasant and hospitable plans designed to make Ned’s stay a sort of continuous fête to everybody. She put on no airs over the preference shown her, and was altogether so kind and friendly and sweet that no one could quarrel with her even in thought, and Johnnie herself had to forgive her, and be contented with a little whispered grumble to Dorry now and then over the inconvenience of possessing “people-in-law.”
And then Katy came, the same Katy, only, as Clover thought, nicer, brighter, dearer, and certainly better-looking than ever. Sea air had tanned her a little, but the brown was becoming; and she had gained an ease and polish of manner which her sisters admired very much. And after all, it seemed to make little difference at which house they stayed, for they were in and out of both all day long; and Mrs. Ashe threw her doors open to the Carrs and wanted some or all of them for every meal, so that except for the name of the thing, it was almost as satisfactory to have Katy over the way as occupying her old quarters.
The fortnight sped only too rapidly. Ned departed, and Katy settled herself in the familiar corner to wait till he should come back again. Navy wives have to learn the hard lesson of patience in the long separations entailed by their husbands’ profession. Katy missed Ned sorely, but she was too unselfish to mope, or to let the others know how hard to bear his loss seemed to her. She never told any one how she lay awake in stormy nights, or when the wind blew,—and it seemed to blow oftener than usual that winter,—imagining the frigate in a gale, and whispering little prayers for Ned’s safety. Then her good sense would come back, and remind her that wind in Burnet did not necessarily mean wind in Shanghai or Yokohama or wherever the “Natchitoches” might be; and she would put herself to sleep with the repetition of that lovely verse of Keble’s “Evening Hymn,” left out in most of the collections, but which was particularly dear to her:—
“Thou Ruler of the light and dark,
Guide through the tempest Thine own Ark;
Amid the howling, wintry sea,
We are in port if we have Thee.”
So the winter passed, and the spring; and another summer came and went, with little change to the quiet Burnet household, and Katy’s brief life with her husband began to seem dreamy and unreal, it lay so far behind. And then, with the beginning of the second winter came a new anxiety.
Phil, as we said in the last chapter, had grown too fast to be very strong, and was the most delicate of the family in looks and health, though full of spirit and fun. Going out to skate with some other boys the week before Christmas, on a pond which was not so securely frozen as it looked, the ice gave way; and though no one was drowned, the whole party had a drenching, and were thoroughly chilled. None of the others minded it much, but the exposure had a serious effect on Phil. He caught a bad cold which rapidly increased into pneumonia; and Christmas Day, usually such a bright one in the Carr household, was overshadowed by anxious forebodings, for Phil was seriously ill, and the doctor felt by no means sure how things would turn with him. The sisters nursed him devotedly, and by March he was out again; but he did not get well or lose the persistent little cough, which kept him thin and weak. Dr. Carr tried this remedy and that, but nothing seemed to do much good; and Katy thought that her father looked graver and more anxious every time that he tested Phil’s temperature or listened at his chest.
“It’s not serious yet,” he told her in private; “but I don’t like the look of things. The boy is just at a turning-point. Any little thing might set him one way or the other. I wish I could send him away from this damp lake climate.”
But sending a half-sick boy away is not such an easy thing, nor was it quite clear where he ought to go. So matters drifted along for another month, and then Phil settled the question for himself by having a slight hemorrhage. It was evident that something must be done, and speedily—but what? Dr. Carr wrote to various medical acquaintances, and in reply pamphlets and letters poured in, each designed to prove that the particular part of the country to which the pamphlet or the letter referred was the only one to which it was at all worth while to consign an invalid with delicate lungs. One recommended Florida, another Georgia, a third South Carolina; a fourth and fifth recommended cold instead of heat, and an open air life with the mercury at zero. It was hard to decide what was best.
“He ought not to go off alone either,” said the puzzled father. “He is neither old enough nor wise enough to manage by himself, but who to send with him is the puzzle. It doubles the expense, too.”
“Perhaps I—” began Katy, but her father cut her short with a gesture.
“No, Katy, I couldn’t permit that. Your husband is due in a few weeks now. You must be free to go to him wherever he is, not hampered with the care of a sick brother. Besides, whoever takes charge of Phil must be prepared for a long absence,—at least a year. It must be either Clover or myself; and as it seems out of the question that I shall drop my practice for a year, Clover is the person.”
“Phil is seventeen now,” suggested Katy. “That is not so very young.”
“No, not if he were in full health. Plenty of boys no older than he have gone out West by themselves, and fared perfectly well. But in Phil’s condition that would never answer. He has a tendency to be low-spirited about himself too, and he needs incessant care and watchfulness.”
“Out West,” repeated Katy. “Have you decided, then?”
“Yes. The letter I had yesterday from Hope, makes me pretty sure that St. Helen’s is the best place we have heard of.”
“St. Helen’s! Where is that?”
“It is one of the new health-resorts in Colorado which has lately come into notice for consumptives. It’s very high up; nearly or quite six thousand feet, and the air is said to be something remarkable.”
“Clover will manage beautifully, I think; she is such a sensible little thing,” said Katy.
“She seems to me, and he too, about as fit to go off two thousand miles by themselves as the Babes in the Wood,” remarked Dr. Carr, who, like many other fathers, found it hard to realize that his children had outgrown their childhood. “However, there’s no help for it. If I don’t stay and grind away at the mill, there is no one to pay for this long journey. Clover will have to do her best.”
“And a very good best it will be you’ll see,” said Katy, consolingly. “Does Dr. Hope tell you anything about the place?” she added, turning over the letter which her father had handed her.
“Oh, he says the scenery is fine, and the mean rain-fall is this, and the mean precipitation that, and that boarding-places can be had. That is pretty much all. So far as climate goes, it is the right place, but I presume the accommodations are poor enough. The children must go prepared to rough it. The town was only settled ten or eleven years ago; there hasn’t been time to make things comfortable,” remarked Dr. Carr, with a truly Eastern ignorance of the rapid way in which things march in the far West.
Clover’s feelings when the decision was announced to her it would be hard to explain in full. She was both confused and exhilarated by the sudden weight of responsibility laid upon her. To leave everybody and everything she had always been used to, and go away to such a distance alone with Phil, made her gasp with a sense
